bees on wildflowers
ride out the breezes,
in wistless sway.
Wistless Sway [Haiku]
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When midnight mists are creeping,
And all the land is sleeping,
Around me tread the mighty dead,
And slowly pass away.
Lo, warriors, saints, and sages,
From out the vanished ages,
With solemn pace and reverend face
Appear and pass away.
The blaze of noonday splendour,
The twilight soft and tender,
May charm the eye: yet they shall die,
Shall die and pass away.
But here, in Dreamland's centre,
No spoiler's hand may enter,
These visions fair, this radiance rare,
Shall never pass away.
I see the shadows falling,
The forms of old recalling;
Around me tread the mighty dead,
And slowly pass away.
The Mother Tongue: English and How It Got That Way by Bill BrysonIt's as if ones gone mining --
From lead, silver refining.
That's how one cleanses a heart:
With pure love, not pining.
Like a pond from Spring rainfall:
Mirror to heavens and all,
Without defect of image --
True as the moon's bright, white ball.
Stargazing across night skies;
Singing songs of hermits, wise;
The water flowing today
Will know that bright moonrise.
NOTE: The late Tang Dynasty poet, Sikong Tu (a.k.a. Ssŭ-k‘ung T‘u,) wrote an ars poetica entitled Twenty-Four Styles of Poetry. It presents twenty-four poems that are each in a different tone, reflecting varied concepts from Taoist philosophy and aesthetics. Above is a crude translation of the seventh of the twenty-four poems. This poem’s Chinese title is 洗炼, and it has been variously entitled: “Clean,” “Refining,” and “Wash — Smelt.”
What’s the story behind your nickname?
Unfortunately, it’s just the most common abbreviation of my proper name.